Grief
by Mouse9
Summary: Even the most opimistic person can have their world fall from them at times.


You know the rules, I own nothing. All characters are owned by Craig B. I just borrow them from time to time.

**Grief**

He left the boarding house; his eyes blinded by tears, and ran. He didn't know where he was going and he didn't care. He only wanted to be away from the hurt.  
  
His beautiful, insane, compassionate, kind grandmother was dying. She was dying and there was nothing he could do to fix it.  
  
He continued running, trying to outrun the voices of the adults in his head.  
  
"She's dying, Arnold."  
  
"The doctor's say she only has a month."  
  
"There's nothing we can do."  
  
"We can only wait."  
  
"Oof."  
  
He ran into something solid full force, knocking him back onto the pavement.  
  
"Hey, watch where you're going, football head!"  
  
Climbing back to his feet, his eyes blinded with tears, he pushed past her and continued running.  
  
Helga, who was still sitting on the pavement, turned as he rushed past her, concern apparent in her eyes.  
  
"Arnold?"  
  
Standing up, she glanced around the street and followed the path he took.  
  
He ran until it felt like his lungs were going to explode in his chest and his legs wouldn't hold him anymore.  
  
He collapsed, clutching the ground, sobbing violently. Why didn't the earth just open up and swallow him whole? He already lost his parents, now his beloved grandmother. He was alone. Truly and utterly alone. He didn't even want to be here anymore. There was nothing positive with the world; nothing was ever going to be better again.  
  
"Arnold?" A whispered plea came from behind him.  
  
Looking over his shoulder, his blurred vision could barely make out a figure. He couldn't tell whom it was, only that it looked like they were wearing pink.  
  
"Go away!" He sobbed, sitting up and turning his back on the person.  
  
A rustle of grass, then a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I can't. You're hurting."  
  
The voice was right behind him. Turning again, he could make out the still slightly blurred face of Helga Pataki.  
  
He opened his mouth to tell her to go away again, when something stopped him. She was looking at him, her eyes wide. But they were not angry or teasing, nor were they full of pity. There was actually hurt in her eyes, and concern. And compassion. For a brief moment, he could see his grandmother in her eyes.  
  
It was that thought that broke him again. Tears ran down his face as he looked at her. She said nothing, reaching out instead to take him by the shoulders and pull him into an embrace. He started sobbing again, clutching onto her as she rocked him, stroking his back and hair. Two children; it didn't matter now that they were suppose to be enemies. All that mattered is one was hurting and the other was hurting because of it.  
  
"My grandma," he gasped into her shoulder. She said nothing, just continued rocking him.  
  
Another loud sob, then, "She's dying and there isn't anything I can do about it."  
  
A choked gasp came from her and she held him tighter, her own eyes now clouding up with tears. Yet she never let go.  
  
His face stayed buried in her shoulder, his cries getting softer and softer until finally they stopped all together and he just sat there, breathing hard, trying to catch his breath. He sniffed loudly, and pulled away form her. She let him go, watching him, saying nothing.  
  
He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, and then smiled slightly as she produced a couple of napkins from the pocket of her dress. He took them gratefully, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose.  
  
She only sat there, waiting for him to finish. He finished composing himself, then looked over at her.  
  
"Why?"  
  
The question startled her. "Huh?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
She looked over at him then, tears still unshed in her blue eyes. His own eyes widened at the sight of her. Never had he seen her eyes so…open before. There was nothing hidden in them. If one searched, one could find all the secrets she held.  
  
"My grandmother died last year." She answered softly, looking down at the grass. "She was my favorite grandma, even if I didn't get to see her often. When she died, I didn't get a chance to say goodbye, and I never got a chance to grieve. I know what you're going through. It's like the whole world is closing around you and you can't find a way out. And after a while you don't care to find a way out."  
  
"I didn't know."  
  
"No one knew."  
  
They sat there for a moment, neither saying anything.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
She looked over at him frowning. "For what?"  
  
He looked up at her; his eyes still red from crying. "For being here. For comforting me. For not trying to say all those stupid things adults say when someone is dying. For being my friend."  
  
There were a hundred things Helga Pataki could have said to him in that moment. Things that in a normal situation would have been expected of her. Instead, she smiled.  
  
"Out of all the people that could have found me," he said softly. "I'm glad it was you."  
  
It was her turn to look at him shocked. But she didn't say anything. Instead she stood up, brushing off her dress and held out a hand for him. He took it, standing up.   
  
"I've ruined your dress."  
  
"She shrugged, wrinkling her nose. "Nah. It'll dry." She looked him in the eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
He nodded, and told her what had happened as they both slowly made their way back to the boarding house. 


End file.
